


One For Sorrow

by einfach_mich



Series: Black Birds [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daryl Dixon Prefers Black Women, F/M, Infertility, Interracial Relationship, Multicultural Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michonne is fighting a losing battle to ignore the pull of Daryl Dixon. Takes place before the start of Season 4, while Daryl and Michonne are hunting for the Governor. This is a sequel to <i>Devil in the Details</i>, but it can be read as a stand alone one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One For Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Incog_Ninja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/gifts), [EleanorK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleanorK/gifts), [chele681](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chele681/gifts).



_A wise man once said to me, if your heart don't break you can't be free. I'm free as a bird flying out over the sea._

Kasey Chambers, _The Mountain_  


Long ago, in another life, someone once told her she would have to fight twice as hard to get half as much as others. Michonne supposes somewhere along the way she forgot how to stop fighting. The fire sank deep in her blood, tempered her into something dangerous, like the steel in her hands. It isn’t easy being hard, but it gives her something akin to comfort. At least it used to.

Something has changed, and if pressed she’d admit it started with Andrea, but Michonne’s never been one for looking back. Even now, as they move through the forest, she tries to keep her mind on the path ahead. Daryl, like a shadow at her back, brings a new kind of comfort. One she is not sure is welcome, but she isn’t exactly pushing him away, either.

The thought trips her up, makes her stop, suddenly unsure of the surroundings. She chalks it up to a distraction. Swears she heard the sound of a broken twig. In the back of her mind, a voice wonders if it might not be something else breaking.

“Somethin’ up?” Daryl’s breath brushes her ear, sending shocks across her skin, and she shakes her head.

“It’s nothing.” She pushes herself forward, ignoring the tension in her body that demands she return to the moment and the feel of his breath on her body.

There is no time for this foolishness, not with walkers lurking and the Governor still breathing. There are things that need to be done, but the feeling looms over her, like a heavy blade above her head, demanding her attention. She feels its weight in the way Daryl’s eyes track her every move, and the soft urgent murmurs that slip from his lips as he sleeps.

In the darkness of night, when all she has is her thoughts and unwanted memories, his need is like an anchor dragging her down. It tugs at her whenever they’re close. She does her best to ignore it, but there’s only so long she can hold out against it.

The weather’s turned cold, and the night has a bone deep chill that refuses to he ignored. They fight it as long as possible, shivering under layers of clothing and their thin blankets. Both refusing to to see the simple truth until absolutely necessary. In the end, it’s Michonne who finally breaks, and uses both their blankets to make a bed.

“It’ll be warmer,” is all she offers, and Daryl only grunts in response.

They bed down, Daryl at her back, while she keeps watch, her sword close at hand. Michonne tells herself it won’t be anything. They can pass the night tangled together without it going any deeper, but the weight of his arm on her waist and the heat of his body soaking into her bones begs to differ.

The first few nights pass without incident, save for Daryl’s tight grip on her body and his urgent whisperings in his sleep. Michonne hums to sooth him, ignoring how it sounds like a long-forgotten lullaby, and how her throat tightens around each note. The hollow spot inside her chest aches with every breath and nags at her, even when it’s her turn to sleep.

In the light of day, the strangeness of the night is burned away and the mission takes over again. They continue to exchange easy smiles, and share their comfortable silence, neither one acknowledging how things have changed. Daryl’s good at playing dumb; she understands how it can be easier than facing the truth. Still there is something heartbreaking about a man who won’t reach out for what he wants, like a starving man at an overflowing dinner table. No one’s so blind they can’t see how badly he wants her, not even Michonne.

With each passing day it becomes harder to ignore, and part of her is starting to believe she could be the answer he needs. That’s the problem. He doesn’t need her, and he shouldn’t depend on her. Love, light and the promise of a better future, those are things people need. Those things died inside Michonne, a long ago. All what’s left is this hard, deadly thing in the shape of a woman.

She isn’t what Daryl wants, sure as Hell isn’t what he needs. He can keep reaching, but she is not going to give an inch. Even she isn’t that selfish, no matter how nice it feels to not be alone. She’s made that mistake before and it’s never worth it.

Best laid plans is how the saying goes, and that’s how she’s slipped. It was easy. This man makes her too comfortable, too at ease. She supposes it’s in his nature, to smooth her rough edges, to calm the storm inside her head and make her want to be the person he sees when he looks at her. It would be so much easier if she were that woman, but those kinds of lies never fit right.

Michonne should know. She spent too many years wearing the weight of a good man’s love. Felt it cover her like a warm blanket, and eventually hardened into an unbreakable shell that even the likes of Daryl Dixon couldn’t crack.

That’s where she went wrong. She mistakenly believed she could resist the pull of Daryl’s need, could ignore the seductive gravity of being the center of someone’s attention. Stronger women have fallen for less, and Michonne is no better.

He’s dreaming again, caught in the web of pain and regret, whispering promises against the bare skin of her neck. Michonne tries to soothe him, reaching behind her to touch his arm. The contact sets him off, he moves too fast, grasping her body with a ferocity that has her gripping her sword hilt.

The soft cry, his voice cracking around an unfamiliar name, gives her pause. She releases her grip on the sword. It’s another dream, more of Daryl’s shadows come to visit. She relaxes into his body, hoping the calm will seep into him, but it only serves as an invitation. His hand slides inside her vest, and under the collar of her shirt to skirt the edge of her bra.

She gasps at the contact, feels her body respond and tries to suppress it, but his fingers keep searching. They find purchase wrapped around her already hard nipple. It is too far; she has to stop him, but something in her head begs to let it continue. It is selfish and stupid, she needs to shut him down.

“Daryl,” she nudges him with her shoulder, and he comes to with a startled snort.

His hand disappears, and his body tenses, like a iron rail against her back. “Shit, I’m so-”

She cuts him off, with a shake of her head, and grabs his arm. “It’s okay.”

He fights her like a confused child. She has to roll over and take hold of his face, even in the dark she knows he can see the reassurance he needs in her eyes. Relief crashes over him. The fight leaves his body, and drags him down on top of her. She takes his weight, telling herself it’s for his sake. When his lips brush against her neck, quickly followed by his teeth, she almost believes the lie.

Their movements are slow and clumsy, eager hands tugging aside clothes to explore bare skin. His mouth makes a map of her body, telegraphing his desire in intricate patterns of kisses, licks and bites. She struggles to muffle the moans and cries of surprise he inspires with his enthusiasm. He makes a feast of her, hungry to taste every inch. All she can do is lay back and keep her eyes on the forest around them, mind and body warring for her attention.

It’s too dangerous to lose her focus completely. They’re still exposed in the dark of night with nothing to protect them but the thin shell of their blankets. No matter how much she wants to give in and lose herself in this moment, she can’t. Not all the way.

Daryl mutters a curse, while he wrestles her jeans off her hips, and she stifles a chuckle at his frustration. She places her hand on his shoulder, shifts her weight and frees one leg from the tight grip of her clothes. He doesn’t wait for her leg to lower before his mouth latches onto the soft skin of her belly and kisses a trail down her body.

She wants to close her eyes, but can’t stop scanning the forest, while stealing glances at Daryl’s face between her thighs. Pleasure claws at her spine, screaming at her to give in and let go. His tongue and fingers are making it harder for her to resist.

He reaches his free hand up her body, twisting his fist in her shirt, and pulls up, demanding her attention. She can see his gaze, intent on her, and it ignites a fire she hasn’t felt in too long.

Before she can catch her breath, while she’s still contracting around his fingers, he leans up and captures her mouth. His tongue slips between her lips, curls inside her mouth mirroring the movement of his fingers. It kicks off another spine bending orgasm that leaves her breathless, and desperate for air.

She places a hand on his chest, breaking the kiss, but he doesn’t let her go far. His hand is on the back of her neck, as he presses their foreheads together. She can smell herself on his breath, feel it wash over her face, and aches for his mouth to return.

“I wanna, but I don’t have anythin’ -- ya know.” He speaks in starts and stops, still breathing heavy and her brain scrambles to put together his meaning.

When she does, something cold settles in her stomach, but she pushes it away. There’ll be time enough for it to eat at her later. Right now she wants this, needs this escape, if only for a few more minutes.

“I don’t need it. Can’t get-” Her throat closes around the words, not letting it slip out, but she doesn’t need to finish.

Daryl’s mouth returns to her with renewed vigor, as if he can kiss away the pain, or at least give a damn good job of trying. She smiles despite the sadness, and helps him move between her legs. He pulls back, and she hears the unmistakable sound of metal parting. Then he’s there, pressed against her, and so much more real than she was ready for. She tries to take a deep breath, but he’s already sliding inside her and there’s no more room for anything else.

He still has a hold on her neck, and he puts his other hand under her ass. She’s off the ground before she realizes what he’s doing. There’s no time or space in her mind to do anything but cling to his shoulders, as he settles her over his lap. She can’t do anything but feel him sink deeper, and she bites down on the thin skin of his shoulder to keep from screaming out how good it feels.

“God damn.” His voice is hoarse and echoes inside her head.

She sets her feet on the ground and tries to use the leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s what she needs, to get back on top and in control. She opens her eyes, scans their surroundings again, relieved to find it clear.

“Stay with me.” He takes a hold of her face, pulls her away from his shoulder and makes her look at him.

It’s too much. The man in front of her, inside her is too real. She can see herself in his light eyes, see the woman he wants and wishes she could be for him. A tear slips from the corner of her eye, catching on his thumb, and Daryl nods his head, closes his eyes, and winds his arm around her back to pull her closer.

Their bodies continue to move in an ever-quickening pace, chasing pleasure and escaping pain with every breath. Michonne looks at the sky, the black has long since faded to shades of a purple and blue, like an ocean above them. Fitting since she’s drowning on air, and the feel of Daryl’s body. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and calves are burning from the effort of keeping up the pace. She knows how to end it, knows what she needs to do, but knowing a thing and doing it are as different as day and night.

A bird flies overhead, black wings beating the sky and making it look so easy. She sighs, pulling on Daryl’s hair, and urges to lift his head. Just this once, she tells herself and looks down into his eyes, a smile on her lips. He smiles back, and she closes the distance between them with a kiss. His hold on her tightens and his movements become lightning fast.

She comes hard and fast, nails digging into his skin. Her mouth captures his scream, as he thrusts one last time and comes inside her. She feels it pass through him, like an earthquake, leaving him weak in its wake.

He lies back into the tangled mess of leaves, moss and their twisted blankets. She shifts off of him, but his arm keeps her close to his body. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. She gives him the moment to savor it. One last gift.

The chilly air quickly brings her back to reality, and she twists out of his grasp and pulls her clothing back on. Standing, she stretches and looks down at him sprawled on the ground. His pants are around his ankles, the collar of his shirt is torn and his mouth is a curved line of self satisfaction. It looks good on him, like an old friend finally coming home, which makes what she has to do even more painful.

“We should get an early start, if we plan to get back before night fall.” She pulls a rag from her pack and tosses it onto his dick.

He leans up on his arms, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Serious?”

“Did I stutter?” She suppresses the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Come on, lazy bones.”

“Yes ma’am.” He ducks his head to smile, in that shy way that makes her hand itch to brush the hair out of his face, and quickly cleans himself up.

He has been trying to convince her that the trail had gone cold for the last week. She doesn’t believe it, he’s just longing for the comfort of a roof and four walls. He wants to go back to his group, and she doesn’t blame him. She’ll take him back. It’s where he wants to be anyway, and then she’ll continue on alone. It’s better this way, for both of them.

She hopes that maybe if she believes it hard enough it will be true, but the empty ache in her chest begs to differ.

 


End file.
